


By Reason of Insanity

by Alobear



Category: Stargate SG-1, The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Moonridge August 2013
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 11:57:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2067264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alobear/pseuds/Alobear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daniel's been engaging in extra-curricular activities again and has discovered what he thinks is a rogue Goa'uld on Earth - in Cascade, Washington.  Cue SG-1 embarking on a mission that quickly sweeps Jim and Blair into a world they never even knew existed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Reason of Insanity

**Author's Note:**

> When I re-entered online fandom in 2013, I quickly got roped (I mean gently persuaded) into pledging stories for the Moonridge Auction. This was the result of one of them! Having not watched or written any Sentinel for many years, and being somewhat rusty with Stargate, too, it was a tough gig, but finishing this story proved hugely satisfying.
> 
> Undying gratitude goes to Alyjude and unbelievable2 for the motivation, inspiration and awesome beta feedback, without which this story would not be nearly as good as it is!

Jack awoke to an insistent buzzing noise that burrowed right into his skull and forced him to alertness. He flailed across the other side of the bed (discovering in the process that it was empty) and reached for Daniel’s alarm clock. He hit the button on the top and blessed silence descended once more. Jack collapsed back onto the bed and looked up at the ceiling in annoyance.

Daniel wasn’t there.

Of course Daniel wasn’t there.

There had been all too many nights recently that Daniel had stayed at the mountain. Jack had started coming to sleep at Daniel’s apartment, since that’s where Daniel would go if he did decide to leave the SGC for the night, rather than Jack’s house. But, as on most of the other occasions, Jack had woken up alone. He blamed the glowing woman on Keb.

Prior to Sha’re’s death, Daniel had used his quest to find her to give him purpose, to focus his energies and provide a reason beyond pure exploration for him to be a part of the SGC. Afterwards, he’d had the search for Sha’re’s child to motivate him and keep him with the program. Ever since that glowing woman had taken the baby through the Stargate on Keb, though, Daniel had been spending every spare waking moment, and rather too many sleeping ones, at the mountain, burying himself in research. Jack didn’t even know what he was studying, but he suspected Daniel was looking for something new to justify his continued role as part of SG-1, and his continued place at Jack’s side.

When questioned about his nocturnal activities, Daniel deflected or outright shut down, as if even he didn’t want to examine his motives too carefully or have to explain himself. Jack hated it when Daniel wouldn’t talk to him, but he knew from bitter experience that pressing the issue just made things worse, and he hated it even more when they fought. He knew Daniel had a tremendous need to feel worthwhile and as if he was achieving something for the greater good, but why the general remit of the SGC didn’t fulfil that Jack couldn’t begin to guess. He also knew that Daniel harboured a lot of guilt over what had happened to Shar’re (didn’t they all?), which affected his ongoing relationship with Jack, particularly his ability to accept it as a reason to stay in Colorado.

Enough was enough, though. Daniel was hurting himself – hell, he was hurting Jack, too – and Jack was sick of it. Even if it meant a blazing row, something had to be done about Daniel’s behaviour, and Jack was the only one who was going to call him on it. He rolled out of bed decisively and headed to the bathroom, determined to get to the bottom of Daniel’s problems once and for all.

XXXXX

Jim awoke and immediately knew that Blair wasn’t in the loft. He rolled over to look at the clock on the nightstand. It wasn’t even 7:30am and, up until recently, he’d generally had to drag Blair bodily out of bed to get him to the station on time. Over the last few months, however, that had changed radically.

Ever since the dissertation debacle, when Blair had announced himself as a fraud and given up any chance of gaining his doctorate, he’d been acting like a man possessed. Jim wouldn’t have been surprised if the incident had plunged Blair into depression but, instead, he was constantly full of nervous energy, getting up at the crack of dawn, rushing about on a million unnecessary errands, and generally grating on Jim’s nerves. Personally, Jim thought depression might have been healthier.

It was obvious that Blair was trying to fill the void that had been left by the destruction of his academic career, and vehemently avoiding dealing with the emotional consequences of it. Jim wasn’t great at the whole emotional honesty thing at the best of times, and found himself completely at a loss when Blair refused to talk to him about how he was feeling. He realised he had been allowing both of them to ignore the problem, when he should have been taking Blair’s usual role in forcing the issues out into the open.

Simon had fought tooth and nail to let Blair keep his access as an observer to the Cascade PD, citing all the times he had put himself in danger on behalf of the city, or provided vital assistance in closing Major Crime cases. It couldn’t go on forever, though, and they all knew it, not least because his observer status didn’t grant Blair a salary. But what could he do, now that his academic reputation was in tatters? No educational institution in the country would give Blair a job, not with the press conference cloud hanging over his head, and Jim couldn’t imagine him doing anything else.

Jim’s unhappy reverie was broken by the sound of the loft door banging open and Blair bustling into the kitchen with what sounded like multiple grocery bags. One minor benefit of the whole mess was that Blair had been doing a lot of really great cooking, though Jim was starting to think even that was detrimental, considering the effect it was having on his waistline. He knew things couldn’t go on the way they were, and he knew it was up to him, as the ultimate cause of Blair’s disgrace, to sort them out. It was entirely down to Blair’s self-sacrificing and forgiving nature that their relationship hadn’t imploded in the aftermath of the press conference, and Jim decided it was about time he started to pull his weight a bit more in the direction of Blair’s emotional well-being.

He climbed out of bed and headed for the stairs, trying to persuade himself that even the inevitable painful confrontation would be better than allowing their current limbo status to continue.

XXXXX

Jack paused in the doorway to Daniel’s office and regarded his archaeologist fondly. Daniel was slumped over on his desk, glasses askew, mouth open, sound asleep. Jack reminded himself of the cameras currently trained on him and suppressed the urge to walk over and plant a kiss on the top of Daniel’s head. Instead, he stepped softly into the room and laid an entirely platonic hand on Daniel’s shoulder, squeezing slightly.

Daniel shifted in his sleep, swallowed and mumbled something incoherent.

“Wakey, wakey, Dannyboy,” Jack said in a sing-song voice, and was rewarded by an adorably confused blue gaze looking up at him.

Then, the moment of cuteness was abruptly over, as Daniel sat bolt upright and looked at his watch in panic.

“Jack?” he said. “What time is it?”

“You’re the one looking at his watch,” Jack pointed out, then took pity on Daniel. “It’s just coming up to 0800. On Tuesday,” he added, just in case.

“Oh,” Daniel said simply. “In that case, I’m glad you’re here. I need to show you something.” He stood up and strode over to his computer, gesturing impatiently at Jack to follow him.

Jack sighed inwardly, knowing there was no point in trying to talk to Daniel about anything other than whatever it was he wanted to discuss. He decided to just go along with it for now, and come back to the other issue at hand later on. He crossed to where Daniel was now seated at the computer terminal and hunched down a little, leaning one hand on the back of Daniel’s chair.

“So, what have you got?” he asked, showing willing.

Daniel didn’t need any encouragement. “You remember a few months ago, when we infiltrated that cult being run by the Goa’uld, Seth?”

Jack shuddered slightly at the memory of being compromised by Seth’s drug of choice and briefly believing the Goa’uld was his god. “How could I forget?” he muttered.

“Well, after discovering one Goa’uld hiding out on Earth for centuries, I started thinking that there might be others,” Daniel continued. “So, I set up a search program to look for incidents that might be Goa’uld in origin, and I’ve been checking the results periodically ever since.”

“And?” Jack prompted, not liking where this was going one little bit.

“And I think I might have found something,” Daniel revealed, confirming Jack’s fears. Then, he apparently changed track. “Did you know that Washington is the only state with an active gallows? Since 1996, death row prisoners can choose whether they are executed by hanging or lethal injection.”

“I did not know that, Daniel,” Jack replied, with exaggerated patience. “What does that have to do with the Goa’uld?”

“Oh, um, there was an execution at the Washington State Penitentiary a couple of weeks ago, and the case got flagged up by my search criteria,” Daniel said, then got sidetracked again. “I also discovered that there have actually been five executions in Washington State since 1990, whereas there’s only been one in Colorado since 1977.”

“One good reason to live here and not there,” Jack commented. “So, what was weird about the case, Statistics Boy?”

Daniel gave him a glare at the nickname, but continued anyway. It was practically impossible to distract him from his topic once he got going. Jack still liked to try, though.

“The prisoner was a man named Joseph Harrington. He was a big shot lawyer in Spokane, Washington, in the mid-seventies, when he suddenly disappeared from his life and wasn't seen again for three years, until he was discovered at a murder scene in 1979. The police linked him to a string of murders that all took place during the time of his disappearance, and he spent the next twenty years on death row. He lost his last appeal and was executed just over two weeks ago.”

Jack crossed his arms over his chest. “I'm still not seeing the Goa'uld connection,” he said.

“I'm just getting to that,” Daniel told him. “The whole time Harrington was on death row, he continued to proclaim his innocence, and his story never wavered. He claimed that a demon possessed him and committed the murders using his body, while he was forced to watch through his own eyes.”

“Sounds horribly familiar, I grant you,” Jack conceded, “but it's hardly proof positive of snakehead involvement. People have been using the demon possession story as an insanity defence since time immemorial.”

“Funny you should say that,” Daniel said, then held up a finger. “But we'll come back to that in a minute. First of all, I want to show you the autopsy photos from the murder victims.”

“Oh, joy,” Jack muttered. “Good thing I haven't had breakfast yet.”

Daniel pressed a couple of keys and some pictures sprang up on his computer screen. The first one showed a close-up of a young woman's face. Her eyes were closed and her skin was grey, apart from a livid red burn mark that spread across her forehead. Jack could see the metal of a mortuary slab beneath her.

“Uh-oh,” he said, remembering how the same mark had marred Daniel's face after their last confrontation with Ammonet. It wasn't a memory he enjoyed revisiting.

“Uh-oh indeed,” Daniel said, pulling up more photos on the screen. “There were a total of twelve victims over the course of the three years, and all of them had the same burn on their foreheads. The medical examiner at the time wasn't able to determine exactly how they died, and no murder weapon was ever recovered, but Harrington's possession story was basically taken as a confession, and nobody ever really questioned his guilt.”

“So, you think a Goa'uld took him as a host, used him to go on a killing spree and then vacated the building before the guy got caught?” Jack raised his eyebrows in enquiry.

“Precisely,” Daniel said with a smile. “You've got your brain in gear early this morning, Colonel.”

“Sometimes I pay attention,” Jack protested. “Now what did you mean before about getting back to the insanity defence?”

“Ah, now that's where things get really interesting,” Daniel said. “Once I had the circumstances of Harrington's case, I did a little digging, and it turns out there have been a series of similar cases in Washington State, going back at least a hundred years. The gaps between them are considerable – it seems the Goa'uld doesn't start killing again until after the previous host is dead each time, and capital cases can take decades to actually reach the point of execution. I think that's why nobody has ever made the connection before.”

“Not to mention the fact that the supposed killers are already dead,” Jack added.

“That too,” Daniel agreed. “Each one has claimed a variation on the same story – possession, voices, diminished capacity – anything that suggests they weren't in control at the time of the murders. But the defence has never been successful, and all the hosts I've been able to identify have eventually been executed.”

“How are we going to locate a single snakehead, seemingly working alone, in the whole of Washington State?” Jack wanted to know.

“We don't have to,” Daniel said with satisfaction. “Because, the day before yesterday, a body was found in an abandoned warehouse – no marks apart from a severe burn across the forehead – in Cascade, Washington.”

XXXXX

“Morning, Chief,” Jim said with forced brightness, as he descended the stairs and headed to the kitchen.

Blair looked round at his approach and greeted Jim with a blinding smile. Once again, Jim marvelled at how lucky he was to have Blair in his life, and took a deep breath to start his planned conversation about Blair's future. He didn't get the chance, though, because Blair jumped in before he could speak.

“Hey, Jim!” he said, bounding forwards and planting a kiss on Jim's lips before dancing away again, back to the groceries. He reached into two of the bags and brought out a carton of milk and a packet of blueberries. “How about blueberry pancakes for breakfast? I read about a special combination of herbs that you can add to the pancake mix that apparently really brings out the tang of the fruit. I know, I know – you wish I'd just stick to plain, old boring stuff, but trust me, man, you have got to try this. You can dial your taste down to begin with, and then bring it up slowly to really get the most out of the blend of flavours. Think of it like a training exercise, if that'll make it seem more worthwhile.”

Jim raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, attempting to stem the flow of Blair's enthusiasm. “Hold up, Chief,” he said. “It's not that I don't appreciate your culinary experiments – well, actually sometimes I don't, but that's beside the point. Don't you think we have more important things to discuss than breakfast, though?”

Blair put the ingredients down on the counter and regarded Jim seriously. “You're absolutely right,” he said, and Jim had a moment of hope that this conversation might turn out to be easier than he'd feared. But then Blair continued,” I've been thinking about the case, too, and I had an idea. I think we should look at the evidence again, and then head to the warehouse and see if you can pick up anything new at the crime scene. I had an idea on the way back from the store about how you could maybe lock some of your senses onto specific things from the evidence and try and track those individual things at the warehouse. That way, you could maybe hone in on something that you missed the first time around. Plus, there won't be anyone else there this time, and you know that always helps because you can use your senses fully without having to hide it.”

Jim took another breath, looked at Blair's earnest expression for a long moment, and then breathed out again in a long sigh.

“Sure,” he said. “If you think that might give us a new lead.”

Blair beamed at him again, and carried on enthusing about his new theory, while preparing the weird blueberry pancake concoction. Jim leaned back on the counter and watched him in silence, cursing his own cowardice.

XXXXX

“So, what’s our approach when we reach Cascade, sir?” Carter asked over the noise of the aircraft.

SG-1 had been given approval to investigate the possible Goa’uld activity in Washington State by General Hammond, and were now on a troop transport to Fairchild Air Force Base. They would then requisition a vehicle and make their way to Cascade.

Carter’s question was a good one, and one that Jack had been considering a great deal since their journey started. Their mission objective was simple – get to Cascade, find the Goa’uld, and neutralise the threat. As with any mission, though, and particularly one taking place on US soil, it was a lot more complicated than that, and Jack had discretion to react to the situation they found as he saw fit.

“I think we should keep our investigation covert, at least to begin with,” he called back. “We might need the support of local law enforcement eventually, but I’d like to keep the whole thing under wraps as much as possible.”

“It’s not like infiltrating Seth’s cult, though, Jack,” Daniel said. “We’ll be operating in a city, with a great deal more risk of innocent bystanders getting involved.”

“I know that, Daniel,” Jack replied. “And we will ask for help if we need it, but let’s just see what we can find out on our own first, and take it from there. I’m not going to endanger the general public, but I’m not going to expose us to difficult questions from the authorities unnecessarily, either. Not to mention that the police would be at risk if we involve them, too, since they won’t be prepared to face a snakehead, and we won’t be able to brief them properly.”

Daniel considered for a moment, then nodded, rather than trying to voice his agreement against the engine noise.

“First thing we do once we’re checked into a motel, is visit the warehouse where the most recent body was found,” Jack announced to the whole team. “That’s where the Goa’uld was last, so that’s where we’re most likely to find traces of where it might be now.”

XXXXX

It was after lunch by the time Jim and Blair got back to the warehouse. They had signed out the evidence file and Blair had appropriated one of the interrogation rooms so that Jim could look at each item without anyone wondering what they were doing. There hadn’t been much there, but Jim had humoured Blair and taken up each piece individually, using both sight and smell to examine them minutely. Blair had been overjoyed when he had identified faint traces of an odd smell on the victim’s jacket, and they had made their way back to the warehouse to see if it could help them discover anything new there.

Jim knew as soon as they arrived that something was wrong.

“There’s someone else here,” he murmured to Blair as they went inside. He drew his gun and stepped forwards cautiously. “Stay behind me.”

They crept further into the large space, Jim honing in on the sounds of other people moving around up ahead. There were several of them and they were talking in low voices. Jim manoeuvred so that he and Blair were both sheltered behind a support pillar, then stepped half out of the cover, trained his gun on the nearest intruder, and called out, “Cascade PD.”

Two of the intruders – there were four in total – immediately spun round and pointed hand guns in his direction, but the nearest one just as quickly then dangled his gun from one finger through the trigger guard and raised the other hand in surrender.

“Stand down, Major,” he said in an authoritative tone, and the blonde woman behind him holstered her weapon. The other two men simply regarded Jim warily, making no aggressive moves.

Jim stepped fully out from behind the pillar, keeping his gun up for the time being. All four of the group were dressed in civilian clothes, but he had noted the man’s use of rank in his instruction, and wondered what on earth the military would be doing, skulking around his crime scene. Blair edged out into the open behind him.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” Jim demanded. “This is a restricted crime scene.”

“Colonel Jack O’Neill, US Air Force,” the nearest man said. It was clear he was in charge of the group. He gestured towards his pocket with his empty hand. “Permission to retrieve my ID?”

“Slowly,” Jim granted. Now he was even more confused. How could the murder he and Blair were investigating be connected to the Air Force?

Colonel O’Neill reached gingerly into his jacket pocket and pulled out a leather wallet, flipping it open to reveal a military ID. Jim zoomed in on it and matched the man’s name to what he had said. The ID looked genuine, so Jim finally lowered his gun and stepped forwards.

“Jim Ellison, Cascade PD,” he said, then gestured at Blair. “And this is my partner, Blair Sandburg.” He kept a safe distance, not yet wanting to put himself inside the range of a potential attack. “What’s the Air Force doing at a police crime scene, out of uniform?”

“That would be classified,” O’Neill stonewalled.

“Even so,” Jim countered. “Normal procedure would be to contact my captain, if a case involved the military. Not break a police barrier and contaminate a crime scene.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” O’Neill said. He sighed. “I was hoping we’d be in and out before anyone knew we were here.”

“And who’s ‘we’, exactly?” Jim asked, gesturing at the rest of the group.

O’Neill made the introductions. “This is Major Samantha Carter, Dr Daniel Jackson, and, uh, Murray.”

Jim thought it was a strange collection of honorifics – and lack thereof – for a military team, but didn’t have a chance to comment, because Blair suddenly stepped forwards.

“I thought I recognised you!” he said to the man identified as Dr Daniel Jackson. “Aren’t you the Daniel Jackson who disappeared from academia a few years ago, after claiming the pyramids were built by aliens?”

The man’s features twisted in discomfort at Blair’s words. The he shot back, “Aren’t you the Blair Sandburg who revealed his doctoral thesis to be a fraud earlier this year, after claiming his police subject had super-powers?”

“Touché, man,” Blair mumbled and drifted backwards again.

Jim felt his jaw clench in frustration at not being able to defend Blair. Although, O’Neill actually looked just as annoyed at the insult to his team member.

“If we’re done with the mutual non-appreciation society,” O’Neill ground out, “perhaps we had better come and speak to your captain.”

XXXXX

Half an hour later, Sam found herself sitting in the bull pen of the Cascade Major Crime Division with Daniel and Teal’c, while Colonel O’Neill spoke to Captain Banks in his office. Detective Ellison was in there with them, while Sandburg had gone to get them coffee. When he returned, she watched him cross the open space, his attention fixed on the four mugs held precariously in his hands. Ellison had described him as his partner, but he didn’t look or act like a policeman, and Daniel’s comment about his doctoral thesis seemed to support that assumption.

Daniel spotted him coming and rose to relieve him of a couple of the mugs of coffee, handing one off to Sam.

“Thanks, man,” Sandburg said with a shy grin, giving the other spare mug to Teal’c, who inclined his head in silent gratitude. “And sorry about earlier. Sometimes, the filter between my brain and my mouth doesn’t work all that well.”

Daniel ducked his head in one of his characteristic gestures. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Apparently, mine doesn’t work any better. I shouldn’t have said what I said, either.”

“No worries,” Sandburg reciprocated. “My academic status isn’t exactly a secret. The press conference made the national news, after all.”

Sam looked at them both, wondering if a self-deprecation feedback loop could potentially cause the two men to cease to exist. They didn’t look anything alike, physically, especially since Daniel had started sporting short hair, but their mannerisms and attitudes were very similar. Sandburg had the same melting eyes, which now switched from a hunted look she had seen all too often in Daniel’s, to an equally familiar bright curiosity.

“So, uh, how does a guy go from theories about aliens to working with the Air Force?” Sandburg asked.

Daniel gave him a sympathetic smile. “That’s classified, I’m afraid.” He darted a glance at Sam. “And not nearly as interesting as that makes it sound.” His face registered curiosity of his own as he deftly changed the subject. “What brought you to be connected to a police department?”

Sandburg’s eyes flicked involuntarily to the captain’s office, where Detective Ellison was holding forth with expansive gestures. “Well, I’m an anthropologist,” he said. “Lots of anthropological data to be found in the police force.”

Sam noted the vagueness of the answer, but Daniel didn’t press for more details. Perhaps he figured it wasn’t fair to dig when he wouldn’t be able to reveal any more about what they were doing there.

“What do you think is going on in there?” Sandburg asked, nodding towards the office.

“Oh, I expect Jack is making friends, as usual,” Daniel replied, wryly, throwing a grin at Sam.

She responded in kind. “The Colonel does know how to make an impression,” she agreed.

“Well, I can tell you one thing,” Sandburg said. “Jim’s very territorial, and Simon doesn’t take kindly to people telling him what to do, so I don’t think either of them are going to appreciate you guys turning up and throwing military weight about. No offence,” he added.

“None taken,” Daniel said. “I don’t appreciate Jack throwing his weight about, either. And don’t worry, he’s used to people arguing with him. That’s the best thing about not being an official part of the military command structure, in my opinion.”

Sandburg grinned. “Works pretty well for me here, too,” he said.

Sam shook her head at the pair of them, then turned her attention back to the confrontation taking place in the captain’s office. Joking aside, it looked like they were going to need the co-operation of this department if they were going to be able to continue their investigation, so she hoped Colonel O’Neill was at least trying to play nice. She also hoped that the situation wouldn’t end the same way as the last time they’d tracked a Goa’uld on Earth. She was still struggling with the implications of killing Seth with a ribbon device, and really didn’t want to end up in a similar position on this occasion.

XXXXX

Simon was grinding his teeth. Jim could hear it loud and clear from the other side of the room, as the military guy – O’Neill – explained, or rather entirely failed to explain what he and his team were doing in Cascade.

“You can't just waltz into my city and interfere with an active murder investigation,” Simon growled. “I don't care who you are.”

“I understand your frustration, I do,” O'Neill said. “But we're here for a very good reason; we just can't tell you what it is. Suffice it to say, we believe the murder you're investigating is connected to something we're also working on, and we'd very much appreciate your co-operation in helping us catch whoever's responsible.”

“Helping you catch - “ Simon spluttered, then continued in a tone of extreme annoyance. “Suffice it to say nothing – I'm not authorising my detective to give you access to a damn thing until I get some kind of explanation.”

O'Neill sighed. Jim could tell from the tension in his body that he was battling his own frustration. He was most likely used to getting his own way without argument.

“I don't like to do this – hell, you weren't even supposed to know we were here at all,” O'Neill said. “But it is what it is.” He regarded Simon for a brief moment, then asked with extreme politeness. “May I use your phone?”

Simon looked like he wanted to refuse, but nodded reluctantly.

O'Neill crossed to the desk, picked up the phone receiver and dialled a number from memory. Jim dialled up his hearing and focused on the phone, wondering if he was actually breaking the law by listening in on both sides of the conversation, but not really caring.

Someone picked up the phone on the third ring, and a voice with a southern accent said, “Hammond.”

“Hi, sir!” O'Neill said brightly. “How are you this fine afternoon?”

“What is it, Colonel?” Hammond said with resignation.

“Well, we've arrived in Cascade,” O'Neill reported, then smiled widely at Jim and Simon, “but we've run into a few problems with the locals.”

“Do you want me to make some calls?” Hammond asked.

“If you wouldn't mind, sir,” O'Neill confirmed. “It's Captain Simon Banks of the Cascade Major Crime Division.”

“All right, give me a few minutes,” Hammond said. “And then you find the damn Goa'uld and get the hell out of there.”

“I'll do my best, sir,” O'Neill said, his tone still bright.

“That's what I'm afraid of,” Hammond muttered, then cut the connection.

“If you gentlemen don't mind waiting for just a few minutes, I believe things will shortly become clearer,” O'Neill told them, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against Simon's desk.

Simon harrumphed, but Jim was busy thinking about what he had heard. The relationship between O'Neill and what was presumably his commanding officer didn't sound like the kind of military interaction he remembered, but then O'Neill and his team didn't seem like ordinary military anyway. And what on earth was a Goa'uld? That wasn't a term Jim recognised from his time in the military, though he figured it might be some kind of code-word used in O'Neill's unit for a particular type of threat.

Not long afterwards, Simon's phone rang, and he snatched it up. Jim didn't bother listening in to the other side of the conversation this time – Simon's words told him all he needed to know, and were pretty much what he had been expecting.

“Banks. Oh, good afternoon, Commissioner. Yes, he's here. Of course. We'll do everything we can to accommodate them. Thank you, sir.” Simon put the phone down again and levelled O'Neill with a glare. “Seems you have friends in high places, Colonel,” he said.

O'Neill gave a self-deprecating shrug. “What can I say?” he said. “I'm a likeable guy – though, as I said, I really don't like having to call in favours like that.” He clapped his hands together. “Now that we're all on the same page, why don't we see if we can catch a killer, and then my team and I can go home.”

Simon nodded at Jim. “Give them whatever they need,” he said grudgingly. “Full co-operation, but you and Sandburg are leading the investigation.”

“Yes, sir,” Jim acknowledged, and gestured for O'Neill to precede him out of the office.

XXXXX

That evening, Jack entered their motel room to find Daniel stretched out on the bed, concentrating hard on some pages of printed text. They had spent what was left of the afternoon going over the police case files and looking at both the body and the evidence. To Jack, it had all been intensely boring and less than useful, but the other three members of SG-1 had been fascinated, so at least his kids had been happy, even if it hadn't moved them any nearer to finding the Goa'uld murderer.

“Whatcha reading?” Jack asked as he crossed to the bed.

Daniel dragged his eyes from the text and looked up, clearly distracted. “Oh, I got someone at the SGC to find a copy of Blair Sandburg's dissertation and fax some excerpts over to me,” he said. “It's really fascinating.”

“This is the fraudulent super-cop dissertation, right?” Jack drawled.

“Um, yes,” Daniel confirmed.

“But you were interested enough to get it faxed over?” Jack wasn't sure why he was surprised. Daniel was interested in a lot of things, and calling the mountain to get some pages sent to him was hardly the most effort he'd ever gone to in search of information.

“I find the whole situation interesting,” Daniel said. “I mean, I was aware of Blair Sandburg even before the press conference where he denounced himself as a fraud. He was the rising star of anthropology a few years ago. He accepted a place at Rainier University at the age of sixteen, completed both his undergraduate and masters degrees in less than the usual timeframe, and was on track to get his doctorate, until he started riding along with Detective Ellison. After that, his academic career seems to have stalled, and then imploded completely with the whole dissertation thing.”

Jack settled on the bed beside Daniel, pressing up against him and scanning a few lines of one of the pages.

“I'm not surprised, if he was claiming his partner had super-powers,” he said.

“Well, that's what's strange,” Daniel replied. “A publisher got hold of the dissertation somehow and released parts of it to the media as hype for publishing it as a novel, but it's not written that way. It's a fully referenced, academically structured doctoral thesis, with background context supplied by anecdotal evidence from all over South America, and all the instances of Ellison using his so-called powers documented scientifically. The research is very impressive, and all the evidence he collected over his time with Ellison is meticulously recorded.”

Jack caught a hint of something pained in Daniel's tone, and thought he knew where Daniel's interest might be coming from. He took one of Daniel's hands and nuzzled his neck briefly.

“Not all anthropological wunderkinds with wacky theories turn out to be correct, you know,” he said, softly. “I realise you must relate to the guy, but it sounds to me as if he's a little bit crazy.”

“Maybe you're right,” Daniel allowed. “Perhaps I am letting my own experience cloud my judgement. I just remember watching the press conference and thinking back to that lecture I gave, and how dismissive everyone was of my theories. I was about to give it all up and finally find something else to do with my life, and then Catherine came up to me and everything changed.”

Jack decided to take the opening and try to get to the bottom of what was evidently bothering Daniel so much. He looked down at where their fingers were intertwined, and asked softly, “Do you ever wish it hadn't? Do you think you'd have been better off giving up and doing something else?”

Daniel was silent for a long moment, and Jack found himself holding his breath, unable to look up, afraid of what he might see in Daniel's expression.

“That's an impossible question to answer, Jack,” Daniel said finally, his tone carefully neutral. “How can we ever know if a different path would have been a better one? The Stargate has given me so much, but it's cost me a lot, too. Having my theories proved correct was amazing, but not being able to tell the world about it and restore my academic reputation has been hard, I'll admit. Then, of course, it brought me Sha're, but it took her away again far too soon. It also brought me you.” He squeezed Jack's hand tightly, and only with his next words did any emotion break through. “And every time we go through the Gate, there's the chance that it'll take you away from me, too.”

“Hey, hey, I'm not going anywhere,” Jack said.

Daniel sighed. “You can't promise that,” he said.

“No, I guess I can't,” Jack conceded. “But isn't what we have and what we do worth the risk?”

Daniel looked round and met his gaze. “Oh, I couldn't give up the SGC now, not with what I know about the threat to Earth, and knowing that I can help defend against it,” he said. “And I'm certainly not planning on giving you up out of some misplaced sense of premature self-preservation, so don't worry about that.”

“So, why all the off-duty research?” Jack asked, finally getting round to the question he'd been wanting an answer to for some time.

Daniel looked away again. “I don't know,” he said. “I guess I've just been searching for so long – first for Sha're and then for the child – that I didn't know how to stop.”

“Well, maybe it's time you tried,” Jack said, leaning in to kiss Daniel softly on the lips. “Maybe this can be enough.”

“Maybe.” Daniel echoed both Jack's words and his actions, letting the pages of Blair Sandburg's dissertation fall to the floor as he turned to meet Jack half-way.

XXXXX

Across the other side of the city, in the loft at 852 Prospect, a similar conversation was taking place between Jim and Blair.

“Man, what a weird day,” Blair said as they worked together to prepare the dinner.

“Yeah, and it gets weirder,” Jim told him. “When we were in Simon's office, O'Neill called a superior officer to get him to involve the Commissioner, and I listened in on what the other guy said.”

“And?” Blair prompted, pausing in his chopping of vegetables to give Jim his full attention.

“And the other guy, Hammond, said O'Neill and his team had to 'find the damn Goa'uld and get the hell out',” Jim quoted.

Blair's brow furrowed in confusion. “The what?”

“I have no idea.” Jim shrugged. “Maybe it's some military term for rogue personnel, or something, but it's not something I've ever heard before.”

“It doesn't sound like any language I've ever come across, either,” Blair said, “though I guess code words don't have to be based on anything that actually makes sense.”

“And what could a random killer in Cascade have to do with the Air Force, anyway?” Jim said. “Did you get anything out of the other three?”

“Not a thing,” Blair said, ruefully. “But whatever kind of team they are, they sure don't fit the usual military types. I mean, Major Carter was pretty irreverent when she was talking about O'Neill, Dr Jackson even said he's not in the military hierarchy at all, and that Murray guy just sat there in his hat and didn't say a word the whole time.”

“O'Neill wasn't exactly very formal with his superior, either,” Jim commented. “And what was that with you and that Jackson guy at the warehouse? It was like some kind of academic anti-pissing contest.”

“Oh, yeah, that.” Blair ran his fingers through his hair. “That was my fault – me and my big mouth. No academic likes to be reminded that people think his theories are crazy.” He huffed one of his deflecting laughs. “You'd think I'd be sensitive to that, of all people.”

Jim regarded Blair seriously, noting the slumped shoulders, the hair falling forwards to hide his face, and the suddenly renewed concentration on the vegetables he was chopping. This was different to the false cheer he'd been enduring the past few months, and potentially left an opening for him finally to get to the bottom of what was going on with Blair.

“I know the whole dissertation thing is still a sore topic, Chief,” he started, not sure how to say what he wanted to say. He saw Blair's shoulders tense, but the chopping didn't stop, and Blair didn't look up. “And I know we haven't really talked about it,” he ploughed on. “But I think we should. I think we need to. We're both just carrying on as if everything's fine, but it's not. And I'm sorry I've been ignoring it.” He tried for a smile. “You know me and emotional honesty.”

Blair finally looked up, his eyes shining. “I've been ignoring it, too,” he said. “Man, have I been ignoring it.” He managed a small smile himself. “In fact, I've been ignoring it so hard, I haven't been able to think about anything else in weeks.”

Jim walked around the kitchen counter, took the knife out of Blair's hands and laid it carefully down. Then, he took Blair in his arms and dropped his face to Blair's neck, drinking in his scent. Blair brought his arms up around Jim's back and clutched him tightly.

“I think I was scared to bring it up,” Jim said, forcing himself to put his feelings into words, and finding it easier now that he didn't have to meet Blair's gaze. “I wanted to believe we could just go back to how it was before, because I was scared that confronting the problem would end up with you leaving.”

Blair pushed him away at that, and his expression was one of astonishment. “Why on earth would you think that?” he demanded. “After everything we've been through, all the shit I've put up with over the years, how could you think I'd ever leave?”

Even as he felt the knot of tension in his stomach ease at Blair's words, Jim cursed himself for yet again making the situation all about him. This was supposed to be about figuring out what was best for Blair.

He reached up and cupped a hand to Blair's cheek. “I don't deserve you, Chief.”

“Damn straight, you don't,” Blair retorted.

“But this should be about what you want,” Jim continued, then spread his hands. “What do you want?”

Blair sighed heavily. “That's just the problem,” he said. “I don't have the first clue. I've been working on that dissertation for so long, I never considered what would come afterwards, doctorate or not. So, now, I'm completely at a loss as to what to do. That's why I've just been coasting since it happened, hoping something would come along to point the way, but it hasn't. At the moment, though, we've got a murderer loose in Cascade, and the Air Force mysteriously breathing down our necks. I know this smacks of going back to ignoring the whole thing, but could we just focus on this case for the time being, and come back to this discussion afterwards?”

“As long as we do come back to it,” Jim conceded.

“We will, I promise,” Blair said. “And I'm glad you brought it up. It feels good to admit the problem, and to know that you're on board with figuring out how to solve it.”

“I'll do my best,” Jim said. “I know I've made enough mistakes along the way that a lot of the blame for this whole mess can be laid at my feet. And I want to try and make up for that.”

“I appreciate that, man,” Blair said, simply. “Thanks.”

XXXXX

The following morning, SG-1 met for breakfast.

“What's the plan, sir?” Carter wanted to know. “The covert operation was a bust, and now we have police help, but what's our next move?”

“Good question, Carter,” Jack replied, spreading his hands to encompass the whole table. “Any thoughts?”

Daniel brought his head up slowly and met Jack's gaze. He had a faraway look in his eyes, which Jack knew meant he had been thinking hard.

“I do have one idea,” he said, “though I'm not sure how much you're going to like it.”

“What is it?” Jack asked, warily.

“The truth,” Daniel said, simply, then held up a hand to forestall Jack's objections. “Not the whole truth, of course, just enough to get us what we need. We point out the connection with the Harrington case, but not any of the older ones. It's conceivable that someone connected with that case could be committing the new crimes, so we can make the connection seem plausible. That way, we can get access to information about the old case, which might help us, and explain our interest.”

“I believe Daniel Jackson may be correct.” Teal'c spoke up. “It will give us the opportunity to track the past actions of the Goa'uld without rousing the suspicions of Detective Ellison and Blair Sandburg.”

Teal'c didn't voice an opinion often, but he was generally right when he did, so Jack considered Daniel's idea carefully, and quickly came to the conclusion that there wasn't much in it to disagree with. He looked at Carter for her view, and she shrugged.

“Seems like the best way forwards, sir,” she said.

When they arrived at the police station, they made their way up to Major Crime and requested that Ellison and Sandburg join them in the conference room. Daniel then proceeded to present a truncated version of the events that had brought them to Cascade. Jack watched Ellison and Sandburg carefully during Daniel's recitation, and was intrigued by what he saw. Ellison's eyes narrowed in suspicion as Sandburg's widened in wonder. Jack could see why Daniel related so much to Sandburg – the young anthropologist really did remind him of the way Daniel used to get so excited about new discoveries. He hoped that he would see that enthusiasm in Daniel again one day.

“So, you think the new murderer was – what? Harrington's apprentice? A fan who was prompted by Harrington's execution to become a copy-cat?” As soon as Daniel stopped talking, Sandburg strengthened their story by coming up with entirely credible explanations for the connection.

“Maybe,” Daniel said. “If we could take a look at the files from the Harrington case, it might help us figure out the connection.”

“And we'd also like to take a trip to the State Penitentiary to talk to anyone who had contact with Harrington over the years. Someone might be able to give us some information that could shed some light on the current case.”

“Okay,” Ellison said, slowly. “Why don't we split up? Sandburg has contacts in departments all over Washington, so he can dig out the old files, and he's much better suited to going through old paperwork than I am.” He grinned over at his partner, who rolled his eyes in return. “I can get you into the prison, and help you find out the best people to speak to.”

“Sounds good,” Jack said. “Daniel and Carter can stay here – they love paperwork. Murray and I will come with you to the prison.”

He studiously ignored the twin glares from the younger half of his team, as he stood and picked up his jacket. Teal’c walked stolidly out of the conference room, Ellison moving to follow him. Jack noticed the detective reaching out to ruffle Sandburg’s hair on his way past, but the younger man was too quick for him and ducked out of the way before he could make contact, throwing a glare his partner’s way that rivalled any in Daniel’s arsenal.

They drove out to the prison in the SUV SG-1 had borrowed from the base where they’d landed; Jack driving, Ellison navigating and Teal’c sitting silently in the back seat.

Ellison took charge when they arrived, showing his ID at the front security gate and introducing the others. They had to sign in and empty out their pockets before they were allowed in, but the process didn’t take as long as Jack had expected. Before too long, they were being ushered into the warden’s office by the man himself, Dwayne Hardman. He looked to be in his late fifties and had a weary look about him, as if years in this job had gradually worn him down. He sighed heavily when he heard why they were there.

“Never pleasant around here after an execution,” he said, “even when the prisoner in question wasn’t popular.”

“Harrington didn’t have many friends inside?” Jack queried.

“Nope,” Hardman confirmed. “He was a loner, and a weirdo, if you’ll pardon the expression. Always a bit nuts, but got crazier towards the end. It affects some people that way, I guess.”

“We’d like to know more about what he was like when he first got here,” Ellison said. “Were you here then?”

“No,” Hardman told them. “I’ve been here a good long while, near on ten years, but not that long. I’m pretty sure Jonesy, one of the guards, has been here since before Harrington’s time, though. He’d be able to tell you whatever you want to know. He’s the expert on all the long-term in-mates, practically part of the foundations around here. I’ll call to the guard station and find out if he’s on shift.”

They were in luck; the guard in question was indeed there, and Hardman called him up to the office to speak with them. There were introductions all round, and the guard, a portly older man named Alan Jones, sat with them at the warden’s small table, more than happy to impart his knowledge.

“Oh, I remember Harrington arriving, all right,” he said, smoothing his grey moustache with the fingers and thumb of one hand. “Caused quite a stir, did that one, what with his talk of demons and the like.”

Jack and Teal’c exchanged a glance, Ellison watching them closely, as always.

“What exactly was his story?” Jack asked the guard.

“That he was possessed by an evil spirit that forced him to kill those people,” Jonesy replied. “He said it was like he was watching someone else do it through his own eyes, and he had no control over his own body. It was creepy listening to him talk about it; he was so adamant and he never changed his story, right up to the minute they injected him.”

“But the spirit or demon or whatever wasn’t still in him when he got to the prison?” Jack asked.

“No,” the guard said. “He insisted that it left him and went into one of the detectives who interrogated him after his arrest. He kept saying the police should be looking for that guy, and that more people would be killed if he was left to roam free.”

“And what did that officer say to that?” Jack continued.

Jonesy gave him a rueful look. “That’s the weirdest thing about it,” he said. “I knew the guy – Pete Downey – he was on my bowling team. And he just up and vanished a couple of weeks after the arrest. Nobody’s seen him since. Hell of a thing – I’ve been wondering about it all these years, especially now that Harrington’s finally dead.”

Jack closed his eyes, imagining what it must be like to spend twenty years on death row and then be executed for crimes you didn’t commit, knowing that the entity responsible was free to do the same thing and keep getting away with it. At least they had a lead, though; it sounded as if the Goa’uld had transferred to this Pete Downey, so they needed to find out what had happened to him.

Ellison took advantage of Jack’s momentary silence and jumped in on the questioning. “Did Harrington get many visitors while he was here?” he asked, clearly thinking about the possibility of an apprentice or crazed fan taking up the murders after Harrington’s execution.

“Not a one,” Jonesy said. “His wife divorced him sharpish when he was convicted of all those murders, and any friends or family he had must have abandoned him, too. Not one person ever came to see him in all that time, other than his lawyer.”

They thanked the guard and the warden and made their way back outside. Once they were on the road back to Cascade, Ellison turned to Jack.

“So, what did you make of that?” he asked.

“Difficult to say.” Jack was deliberately vague. “I think it would be a good idea to look into this Pete Downey fellow.”

“You think he might be involved in what’s happening now?” Ellison asked. “He’d presumably be getting on a bit by now. Seems unlikely that he’d suddenly start killing people in the same way as someone he was involved in arresting twenty years ago.”

“Well, it’s a lead,” Jack replied. “And you have to admit him disappearing like that is a little off. Unless the others have found something in the files, it’s all we’ve got to go on.”

XXXXX

The others were deep into the old case files that Sandburg had had transferred from Spokane. Sam looked up at one point and couldn’t help but smile at the sight of two dark, bespectacled heads side by side and bent over paperwork. They might have initially balked at Ellison and Colonel O’Neill assigning them to desk duty, but Sandburg and Daniel were certainly immersed in their studies now. Sam herself was finding the case files more interesting than she had expected, even if they were a little dry.

“This is weird,” Sandburg said suddenly, looking up to meet her gaze.

Daniel dragged his gaze away from the report he was studying to look up, too.

“Out of all this,” he said, gesturing at the sea of paper surrounding them, “only one thing is weird?”

“Well, okay,” Sandburg elaborated, “this is particularly weird.”

The other two were paying attention to him fully now, Sam wondering what he might have found and whether it would put the secrecy of their mission at risk.

“The evidence log lists a strange item found at the scene of the last murder, back in 1979,” Sandburg said.

Sam exchanged a nervous glance with Daniel, thinking she might know where this was going.

Sandburg continued, “It describes it as some kind of ornate jewellery, apparently designed to fit over the arm and hand, made of metal, with a large amber stone that covered the palm.”

Sam’s heart sank. Well, if they hadn’t been sure the murderer was a Goa’uld before, they definitely were now.

Daniel cleared his throat. “And, where is the, uh, item now?” he asked.

“That’s the particularly weird thing,” Sandburg said, looking over at him. “It was logged into evidence when Harrington was arrested, but subsequently went missing, along with all the crime scene photos of it, so the evidence log description is the only record of it left in the file.”

“That is weird,” Sam agreed.

“If it’s somehow part of the ritual of the killings, maybe whoever is committing them now has it,” Sandburg suggested.

“Maybe,” Daniel said, with a significant look at Sam.

Luckily, Sandburg seemed too absorbed in the reports to notice all the silent communication that was going on between the other two.

“What else have we found out?” Sam asked, wanting to get the subject off the missing Goa’uld ribbon device.

“I think I’ve discovered why any insanity plea Harrington might have entered wouldn’t have been accepted,” Daniel said. “The original arrest and interrogation report says he was completely calm when he was discovered at the scene of the last murder. He went into custody with no resistance and seemed entirely in command of his faculties in the first interview. Part way through the second interview, though, he apparently suddenly went crazy, and it was only then that he started raving about demon possession.”

“So, the prosecution argued that he made the whole thing up after the fact, once he realised how much trouble he was in?” Sandburg suggested.

“Presumably, yes,” Daniel agreed with him, though his eyes transmitted a different story to Sam.

Evidently, the Goa’uld had still been in control of Harrington when he was arrested, but had transferred itself to someone else, someone in the police station, during the interrogation process.

XXXXX

When they got back from the State Penitentiary, Jim led O’Neill and Murray back up to the conference room, where they found the others just putting the old case files back into their storage boxes.

They compared notes and quickly came to some conclusions as to what they should do next.

“So, it looks like our best bet is to look into whatever happened to Pete Downey,” Jim said.

“And we also need to find out if he had access to the evidence lock-up at the time of the arrest,” Blair said. “A detective on the case and an important piece of evidence both going missing is pretty fishy, if you ask me.”

“Agreed,” O’Neill said. “Will there be a file somewhere on Downey’s disappearance?”

“Hang on,” Blair said, “I think I remember seeing something about that.” He crossed to one of the boxes and took the lid off, rummaging around inside for a few moments. “Aha!” he announced, lifting out a file and brandishing it triumphantly. “It was linked to the Harrington case in the Spokane archives because of Downey’s involvement, so Julia in their records department sent that file across as well. I gave it a quick scan earlier, but I didn’t know it was important.”

“Good recall, Chief,” Jim said, with a smile, and Blair preened slightly at the praise.

Jim snagged the folder from him and laid it out on the table. Everyone crowded round to take a look.

“There’s not much here,” Jim said after a moment’s silence. “Just the missing person’s report and a few notes on an investigation that went precisely nowhere. It’s like the guy just vanished into thin air.”

“What’s this?” Jackson tugged at another sheet of paper near the back of the file, bringing it further into view. He perused it briefly, then looked up at O’Neill. “Downey’s wife came into the station two years ago, insisting she saw Downey in the street on a business trip to Cascade. The officer she spoke to dismissed it as the wishful thinking of an abandoned wife, because she said he looked exactly the same as the day he disappeared – hadn’t aged a day.”

O’Neill’s eyes widened briefly, then he carefully schooled his expression. Before he could react to Jackson’s discovery, however, Blair chipped in.

“So, what are you saying?” he asked with a grin. “The demon jumped out of Harrington and into Downey, and now it’s committing murders in Downey’s body, having prevented him from ageing in the interim with its phenomenal cosmic powers?”

The entire Air Force team stared at Blair, momentarily stunned.

Then, O’Neill laughed. “Of course not,” he scoffed. “That’s crazy.”

Blair looked at him quizzically, as if wondering why O’Neill found it necessary to denounce Blair’s obvious joke as ridiculous. Jim was certainly wondering that himself. The whole situation was just getting stranger and stranger. He still had no idea what O’Neill and his people were hiding, but he was sure it was something big. 

XXXXX

Outside the conference room, a young policeman watched surreptitiously through the window. Ellison and Sandburg being on the case had been bad enough, but now the Air Force was there, too, and that could only spell danger.

Maybe it was time to leave Cascade, and possibly Washington State altogether, and find a new hunting ground.

Or maybe it was time to broaden his victim pool to include those hunting him.

Resolve flooded through him, and he felt his power making his eyes glow briefly. He turned quickly away from the conference room and went about his business.

XXXXX

Despite the weird looks he got from Ellison and Sandburg for doing so, Jack snagged the old photo of Downey from the 1979 missing person's report.

“Should we go and interview the wife, sir?” Carter asked.

“Would that really tell us anything useful?” Ellison countered. “She's clearly unhinged. A crazy story about seeing Downey a couple of years ago isn't likely to tell us anything about his current activities, even if it is him committing the murders.”

Sandburg chipped in. “She might be able to tell us more about his state of mind during the investigation in '79, though,” he pointed out. “And maybe she really did see him in Cascade, and her mind somehow super-imposed her memory of what he used to look like onto what he looks like now.”

Ellison looked at him, sceptically.

“Hey, I don't know, man!” Sandburg said, throwing his hands in the air. “The mind can play weird tricks on you. And Downey being active in Cascade over the last couple of years could make some sense of this crazy case.”

“I don't think we should all go, though,” Daniel said. “We don't want to overwhelm her. Why don't Sam and I go? We could pose as journalists, researching a book about missing persons, maybe.” He levelled a significant glance at Jack.

“Sure,” Jack replied, nonchalantly, trying to distract from the fact that they didn't want Ellison or Sandburg in on the trip. “You kids go play with the crazy wife, and the rest of us will get back to some real investigating.”

“Such as, O'Neill?” Teal'c spoke up for the first time, and Jack saw Sandburg actually jump, as if he'd completely forgotten the big man was even there.

“Good question, Murray!” Jack exclaimed, turning to Ellison with a broad grin. “You're the expert here, Detective. How would you suggest we proceed?”

Ellison was frowning at Daniel, as if uncomfortable with letting him and Carter out of his supervision, but he snapped his attention back to Jack at the question.

“Well,” he said, “Sandburg and I have unfinished business at the warehouse, so we should head back there.” He paused a moment, obviously considering something. “If your colleagues are going to Spokane anyway to interview the wife, maybe you and Murray could go with them and stop by the station there to find out more about Downey's duties and whether he had access to the evidence locker. I can call ahead to let them know you're coming and that they should co-operate fully.”

Jack reconsidered his estimation of Ellison's feelings about letting them out of his sight. It clearly wasn't an issue if he was actually suggesting the four of them take a trip entirely outside his jurisdiction. Jack watched Sandburg watching Ellison and wondered exactly what it was they wanted to do at the warehouse. It seemed that SG-1 weren't the only ones who wanted the opportunity to undertake some investigations unobserved. Well, he was happy to let Ellison have some leeway, if the courtesy was being extended in the other direction, as well. Let them keep their secrets; SG-1 already had more than enough of their own to deal with.

“Sounds like a plan,” he approved. “Divide and conquer. We're not going to make it all the way to Spokane and back tonight, though, so we'll have to overnight it and meet you back here tomorrow for a debrief.”

XXXXX

Jack drove again, the SUV eating up the miles. They had swung by their motel to pick up their stuff and check out.

Before too long, Daniel broke the silence. “I wonder what Ellison and Sandburg could be doing at the warehouse that they don't want us to know about,” he said, prompting a smile from Jack.

“You noticed that, too, did you?” he said, glancing over to where Daniel was looking thoughtful in the passenger seat. “Beats me, but it does give us the opportunity to carry out our own investigations without them.”

“Do you really think the wife of the missing policeman and the twenty-year-old records of the Spokane Police Department will help us find this Goa'uld, O'Neill?” Teal'c's rumble sounded from the back seat.

“Dunno, Teal'c,” O'Neill replied, “but we haven't got anything else to go on right now. Besides, it's not every day you get to drive through Washington State and appreciate all the lovely -” he gestured vaguely out of the window “- trees...”

“We have already spent many hours today in this vehicle, appreciating the trees, O'Neill,” Teal'c pointed out.

Jack caught Carter's eye in the rear view mirror. “There's no pleasing some people,” he muttered and she covered a laugh with a cough.

It was pretty late by the time they arrived in Spokane so they picked the first motel they came to, ate a hasty dinner in the diner and headed to their rooms.

Daniel was quiet as they got ready for bed, and Jack could almost hear the cogs turning in his mind.

“Whatcha thinkin' about?” he asked as they slid beneath the covers together.

“Blair's dissertation,” Daniel said, his voice remote, as if he was having to bring his concentration back from a vast distance to engage in the conversation.

“Still?” Jack queried. “What about it?”

Daniel gave a half smile and nuzzled into his neck. “Just a crazy thought,” he said, his voice now muffled by Jack's skin, his breath tickling slightly. “Maybe I'll tell you after we get back home, when we know how all this turns out.”

“Okay,” Jack said, entirely distracted by what Daniel was now doing with his hands. “Yeah, tell me later...”

XXXXX

Sam and Daniel dropped the Colonel and Teal'c off at the Spokane Police Department early the next morning, then drove to the address they had for Downey's wife. It was a modest house, with a tidy front yard and was obviously well-maintained. There was a basketball hoop set up over the garage door, and a swing set was just visible over the fence behind the house.

“Kids?” Sam said, surprised. “The file didn't mention anything about that.”

“Downey didn't have any,” Daniel said. “I hope we have the right house. Maybe she's moved.”

They approached the front door and Sam knocked. They only had to wait a couple of minutes before a middle-aged woman answered. She was wearing an apron and had flour in her already slightly greying hair. She looked confused to see them standing on her front porch.

“Good morning, ma'am,” Sam said with a bright smile. “Are you Mrs Judith Downey?”

The woman's expression switched to outright wariness. “Mrs Judith Beresford,” she said. “I haven't been Mrs Downey for nearly fifteen years. What do you want?”

“My name is Daniel Jackson and this is my associate, Samantha Carter,” Daniel said, his expression earnest and intensely trustworthy. Sam wondered if he was doing it deliberately and decided he probably wasn't. Earnest and trustworthy just came naturally to Daniel, even when he was about to embark upon a pack of lies. “We're sorry to call so early, but we wondered if we might ask you a few questions about your ex-husband, Peter Downey.”

“Why?” Judith's face registered alarm. “You haven't found him, have you?”

Sam supposed it was fair enough that she would be taken aback by two strangers turning up on her doorstep, asking about a man who had vanished without trace twenty years before, but Downey's ex-wife seemed almost frightened by the mention of him.

“No, nothing like that,” she said softly. “We're actually researching a book on unsolved missing persons cases, and hoped to include Mr Downey in it.” She wondered when it had become so easy to lie to people. “Would it be possible for us to come inside for a few minutes?”

“You're going to put Pete in a book?” Judith repeated. Her expression was back to confused again, which Sam decided was progress of a sort. “Uh, I guess it would be okay, though I don't know what I can really tell you.”

She stepped backwards away from the door, the invitation for them to enter implicit. They followed her through into the kitchen, where the fixings for some kind of pie were spread out over the counter.

“Sorry for the mess,” she said. “There's a bake sale at the kids' school tomorrow.”

“It's no problem,” Daniel assured her. “You just carry on; we don't want to interrupt your day. Your kids are from your second marriage?”

“That's right,” Judith said, continuing to relax as the subject of her children brought out her innate maternal pride. “Matthew is is eleven and Ellie is eight. As soon as Pete had been gone long enough, I got a divorce and married my current husband, Ben.”

“So, you never had any idea at all what happened to Pete?” Sam asked.

“Not a clue,” Judith replied. “It was really weird, if I'm honest. He came home from work one day, acting very strange. Then he went out again just before dinner and never came back. It was like he vanished off the face of the earth. I was frantic for a while, but there just wasn't anything for the police to go on. He was just gone.” She wiped her hands on her apron and sighed. “Eventually, you have to move on. You can't let something like that crippled your whole life. And then I met Ben and it was like I'd been given a second chance.”

Sam thought she sounded like she was trying to justify her choices to herself, and she couldn't blame the woman. After not knowing what had happened to her husband for year after year, it was perfectly understandable that she would want to make a new life without him, but it must have been difficult to avoid feeling guilty about it.

Daniel took his turn with the questions. “You said he was acting strange when he came home the night he disappeared,” he said. “Can you explain what you mean by that?”

“I'll never forget it,” Judith said. “He was generally quite a talkative man, always telling me all about the cases he'd worked on during the day; more detail than I really wanted most of the time, but I think it helped him process the things he had to deal with on the job. That day, though, he was unusually quiet and didn't really respond when I asked him if anything was wrong. I assumed something bad must have happened at the station, but he wouldn't tell me what it was. He seemed cold and remote, almost as if he didn't know who I was somehow. Then, he just walked out the door without a word and I never saw him again.”

“Never?” Sam prompted, remembering the police report.

Judith looked embarrassed. “Well, I thought maybe I did a couple of years ago, but it couldn't have been him.”

“Why not?” Daniel asked.

“Because he looked exactly the same – to the day! I mean, it had been nearly twenty years and it was like I was seeing him the day after. It really freaked me out, but I was so sure it was him. It all happened so fast, though, and I couldn't catch up to him to speak to him, so I guess it must have been my imagination.” She looked from Daniel to Sam and back again. “That's why I was so scared when you turned up, in case you'd found him. It's been so long, and I have a whole new life now. I don't wish him ill or anything, but him resurfacing now could cause a lot of trouble.”

“I understand,” Sam said. “When you thought you saw him a couple of years ago, can you tell us where you were and what he was doing?”

Judith paused a moment and frowned, as if weighing whether or not to tell them more. Then she shrugged. “It was in downtown Cascade. I was there for a business meeting, back when I was working, and I just spotted him in the street. It was strange because he was wearing a police uniform and it looked like he was working a beat, which wouldn't make sense, since he was a detective when he disappeared, so foot patrol would be a demotion.” She gave a nervous laugh. “What am I saying? That's hardly the strange thing about it, is it?”

Daniel smiled encouragingly. “Don't worry. We've heard stranger things in our time.”

Judith suddenly looked worried again. “You won't put my name in the book, will you? It's just I don't want it to affect my family in any way. I don't think Ben would like our business splashed all over the media.”

“We'll keep real names out of it completely,” Sam reassured her. “Anyway, I think we've taken up enough of your time. Thank you so much for speaking to us. You've been very helpful.”

“Oh, you're welcome,” Judith said, though she seemed more than happy to show them out.

Once they were back outside, Daniel gave Colonel O'Neill a call and let him know they were on their way back to the police station.

“Jack says they're about done,” he reported once he hung up. “They'll meet us outside and we can head straight back to Cascade.”

“To look for a foot patrol policeman matching Downey's description from 1979 in the current Cascade police force?” Sam asked.

“It's a bit of a stretch,” Daniel said, but it's where the evidence is pointing at the moment. “So, unless Jack and Teal'c have found anything better, I guess so. Though, how we're going to explain this to Ellison and Sandburg, I have no idea.”

The Colonel and Teal'c were indeed waiting for them on the street outside the police station when they pulled up. They jumped in the back of the SUV and Sam drove back towards the interstate for the long drive back to Cascade.

“So, any great insights from the wife, kids?” Colonel O'Neill asked, once they were on their way.

Sam let Daniel recount their conversation with Judith Beresford, instead concentrating on finding the right route.

“So, we're thinking Downey, or rather the Goa'uld, skipped town from Spokane and eventually set up a new life as a policeman in Cascade, giving himself a couple of years to get settled there before he started killing again,” Daniel concluded.

“But what was he doing for all the time in between?” the Colonel asked. “And why start up again in an area so close to where he was before?”

“Well, if you remember, all the other murders over the past hundred years took place in Washington State,” Daniel said, “so he obviously likes it there for some reason. And he always waits until the previous host is dead before he starts killing again. I'm not saying I understand it, but it's an obvious pattern.”

“Did you find anything useful at the police station, sir?” Sam asked.

“Not really,” Colonel O'Neill sighed. “The current captain was a rookie when Downey disappeared and he remembers it well, since it caused quite a stir at the time. He confirmed that Downey was involved in the Harrington case, and that he would certainly have had access to the evidence lock-up, but there wasn't much more he could tell us. He said Downey was well liked, and everyone was shocked when he just up and vanished. There was a big investigation into it; they take the disappearance of one of their own pretty seriously. But there were never any leads, so eventually it just fizzled out. Wherever he went, he covered his tracks well.”

“At least we have corroboration for our theory,” Teal'c said.

“That we do,” Colonel O'Neill agreed. “So, we've pretty much figured out what happened in '79. Now, we just have to find the snake wherever he's hiding right now. Let's hope Ellison and Sandburg have come up with something new from their trip to the warehouse.”

XXXXX

Jim and Blair went straight to the warehouse from the loft after breakfast. Blair had asked if they needed to check the evidence again to remind Jim of the smell he’d picked up, but Jim didn’t think it was necessary. The process of checking evidence out of the lock-up was laborious and, besides, he wasn’t keen on the day shift officer down there. He always felt as if the guy was looking at him funny, and it made the whole thing even more awkward.

When they arrived, the space was empty and blessedly quiet; the perfect setting for focusing his senses on minute traces. Blair started his usual spiel about relaxing and dialling up his senses gradually, but it was the tone and quality of Blair’s voice, rather than the content of the words, that put Jim in the right frame of mind. He thought back to how resistant he used to be to allowing Blair to lead him through exercises like this, and realised that it was a good enough metaphor for his attitude to their entire relationship. When they first met, he had thought he was going crazy and was desperate for help, but hadn’t been remotely open to taking on board the ideas, ideals and, ultimately, love of the man he now relied upon so completely. It made him even more amazed and grateful that Blair had stood by him through everything, and made his resolve to help Blair figure out what to do with his life even stronger.

Jim turned his mind back to the task at hand, letting Blair’s gentle voice wash over him, and focused in on his sense of smell. He wandered around the vast space of the empty warehouse, honing in on anything that seemed out of place. Eventually, over in the corner where the body had been found, he caught the first hint of the odd smell he had identified on the victim’s jacket. He stopped and sniffed cautiously.

Blair trotted over to join him, a solid presence suddenly at his side, a light touch on his arm, grounding him.

“You got something?” Blair asked softly.

“Maybe,” Jim replied, absently, dialling up his sense of smell even more, until it was almost at the limits of his ability. “Yeah, I think I do. It’s the same thing I smelled before, almost like gunpowder residue, but not quite.”

“Great, man,” Blair enthused. “Do you think you can track it out of the warehouse?”

Jim really wasn’t sure. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s really faint. I feel like if I move, I might lose it. I’m sorry, Chief, I’m not sure this is going to help us.”

“Don’t give up yet,” Blair said, his irrepressible spirit re-enforcing Jim’s own faith in his skills. “Could you maybe try and piggy-back your sight onto the smell and see if you can attach a visual cue to it? That might be easier to follow.”

It used to irritate Jim that Blair seemed to think he knew how to use Jim’s sense abilities better than the Sentinel himself. It had been quite a painful realisation of his own shortcomings when Jim finally admitted that Blair absolutely knew how to use them better than he did. It had taken a long time, even after this realisation, for him to accept Blair’s suggestions and be willing to try them out, but they had almost always proved beneficial.

He employed Blair’s suggested technique now, dialling up his sight and attaching it to the faint trace of odd smell he was picking up. He was quickly rewarded by the sight of a golden, iridescent haze hovering in the corner of the warehouse.

“Wow, that worked!” he exclaimed. “I can see it. It’s like a kind of mist hanging in the air. You’re a genius, Chief!”

“You’re the one finding the evidence,” Blair said modestly, but Jim could hear the pleasure in his voice at the praise. “Do you think you can follow it now?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Jim said, “but it’s going to be a bit tricky keeping it in view and paying attention to traffic and stuff at the same time. You might have to navigate for both of us.”

“Sure thing, man,” Blair said, tightening his grip on Jim’s arm.

Jim identified a faint trail of the mist or whatever it was, and they made their way outside, Blair leading the way but Jim providing their direction. Jim knew he wouldn’t be able to drive as well as track the mist, and he thought it would be easier to keep it in view while walking, anyway, so they left the truck where it was and headed out to the main road on foot.

Jim rapidly lost track of the streets and turnings, unable to focus at all on where his feet were leading him, and trusting Blair to stop him from walking out in front of a bus. Blair kept a steady pressure on his arm, and a steady stream of soft reassurances in his ears, preventing him from zoning.

After what seemed like half a lifetime of intense concentration, Jim was brought up short by an exclamation of dismay from Blair. He was jolted back into normal sensory perception and looked up to see that they were standing in front of the police station.

“What?” he said, struggling to bring his brain back into focus.

“You’ve led us right back to the station, man,” Blair said. “I bet you were just following the trail of whatever was on the jacket, which of course was brought back here from the warehouse when the evidence was collected."

"Dammit,” Jim cursed, frustration building. “So, this whole exercise was for nothing?”

Blair patted his arm. “Let’s see it through right to the end, just in case it does lead us somewhere unexpected. Can you pick up the trail again and see where it actually ends up in the station?”

Jim sighed. “I guess so, though I doubt it’s going to help.”

“Let’s try, anyway.” Blair shrugged. “We’ve come this far – and you never know.”

Jim gave in, focusing back in on the faint trace of mist and letting Blair lead him into the building. Sure enough, though, the trail led them straight back down to the evidence lock-up. 

“Now what?” Jim asked in exasperation.

Blair shrugged. “Since we’re down here anyway, maybe we should take one more look at the evidence with an extra fine-toothed comb, just in case? I’ll call up to Rhonda and tell her to let the Air Force guys know where to find us when they get back.” He took his phone out and made the quick call, as they continued down the corridor to where the duty officer positively glared at them as they approached.

XXXXX

When SG-1 arrived back at the Cascade police station, Jack went straight to Captain Banks’ office to request access to the police department’s personnel records.

“Why on earth would you want that?” Banks demanded.

Jack winced. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but we have reason to believe the killer might be a police officer,” he said, not even bothering to try and soften the truth.

Banks jumped to his feet, hands coming down on the surface of his desk. “What?” he spluttered. “You think this could have been done by a police officer? I don’t believe it.”

“We don’t want to believe it, either, Captain,” Jack soothed, “but it is a possibility and we’d like to discount it by checking the records before we move on to any other leads.”

“All right,” Banks said, heavily. “I’ll get my assistant, Rhonda, to log you in to the personnel records. And I hope they disprove your theory.”

“Me, too,” Jack assured him.

XXXXX

“Back again, Detective?” the evidence duty officer sneered. “Still think you might find something on the stuff from that murder case?”

Jim bristled at the guy’s tone, wondering what exactly his problem was. He didn’t want to admit that they were probably down there on a fool’s errand, so he squared his shoulders and replied, “Actually, yes.” He glared back. “We won’t check the box out this time, though; we’ll just look over it down here.”

The officer – his name badge said Turner – shrugged dismissively. “Whatever you want, Detective. I’ll have to come through to the back with you, though – I need to unlock the viewing room for you.”

XXXXX

With Daniel seated at one computer, scanning records from ‘A’ forwards, and Carter at another, scanning from ‘Z’ backwards, it wasn’t long before their theory was actually proved correct.

“I’ve got him, sir,” Carter announced, and the other three all crowded round her terminal. The page displayed on the screen was the record for Officer Brian Turner, and the photograph showed a man who looked exactly like the 1979 picture of Peter Downey.

Jack jogged over to Rhonda’s desk and demanded, “Is Officer Brian Turner on duty today?”

She looked a bit startled, but tapped a few keys, read something on her screen and then looked back up at him. “Uh, yes, he is. He’s in charge of the evidence lock-up.” Her eyes widened as she evidently remembered something. “Blair called a while ago and said he and Jim would be in Evidence, too, if you need them.”

“Where?” Jack barked.

Rhonda gave him hasty directions, and Jack hurried back to join the others.

“Downstairs,” he said, “and he may already have Ellison and Sandburg.”

They all dashed out to the stairs.

XXXXX

Turner ushered Jim and Blair through into the evidence lock-up, closing the shutter behind them so that nobody could enter while he was away from his post. He led them to the very back of the stacked shelves, pausing briefly to let Jim pick up the evidence box along the way, and then let them into the small room where evidence could be laid out without having to take it elsewhere. He followed them into the room, shutting the door. It was when he then turned the key to lock it that Jim first registered that something was very wrong.

He spun round to face Turner. “What the hell?” he asked.

It was then that everything started to get very strange. Turner’s eyes glowed with a malevolent light and, when he spoke again, his voice took on a deep, unnatural timbre. “You’ve meddled long enough,” he said menacingly. “It’s time I took care of you both, once and for all.”

Before Jim could react, Turner brought his right hand out from where it had been hidden behind his back, revealing some kind of metal device fitted over his arm. The crystal in the centre glowed with a bright, golden light just like the trail they had followed from the warehouse, then a pulse shot out of it and hit Blair squarely in the chest, flinging him backwards.

Not allowing himself to be distracted by his concern for Blair, Jim threw himself at Turner, propelling them both to the floor. But the other man was incredibly strong, and tossed Jim away from him with hardly any effort at all, regaining his feet almost instantly. Jim rolled until he hit the wall hard, and looked up, dazed, as Turner advanced on him, holding his hand out with the crystal in the middle of the device pointed directly at his head.

XXXXX

The corridor leading down to the evidence lock-up was deserted when SG-1 got there, as was the counter itself. The shutter was down and the door was locked when Jack tried the handle, but a quick zat blast to the electronic key pad popped it open soon enough. Jack led the way through the piled shelves of evidence, the others taking out their zat guns and putting them at the ready. They proceeded carefully, aware of the many potential ambush points in the dimly lit storage area, but no attack was forthcoming.

They reached a door at the very back of the area and Jack gestured for the others to take up defensive positions to either side. Then several things happened in very quick succession.

Jack kicked in the door and stepped inside with gun raised to see Turner/Downey spinning around towards the sound of the invasion. Sandburg was lying motionless at the back of the room, while Ellison was sprawled on the floor at the Goa’uld’s feet, his expression alarmed. The Goa’uld’s eyes glowed and he started to raise his hand, which was sporting an all too familiar ribbon device.

Jack heard the rest of SG-1 crowding into the room behind him, and he aimed his zat, calling out, “Hold it right there!”

As the Goa’uld continued to raise the ribbon device, and Jack pulled the trigger of his zat gun, Ellison launched himself forwards to tackle the Goa’uld at the knees. As the Goa’uld staggered sideways, Jack’s zat blast went wide and the pulse from the ribbon device crackled past his head.

Jack heard someone fall to the ground with a grunt behind him but didn’t give in to the temptation to look to see who it was. He yelled at Ellison to get clear, then fired his zat twice in quick succession before the Goa’uld could set off the ribbon device again. The Goa’uld was thrown backwards against the table and cracked his head against it on the way down for good measure.

Teal’c hurried forward to check the fallen Goa’uld, while Jack turned to see Daniel crouched next to Carter, helping her to sit up. She was grimacing in pain, but nodded up at him wearily when he raised his eyebrows at her.

“He is dead,” Teal’c announced, getting back to his feet and turning to face Jack. “Should we fire on him once more to dispose of the body?”

“That might be a bit difficult to explain,” Jack said. “Better to pull some strings to confiscate the body than have the Cascade PD thinking he got away.”

By this time, Ellison had scrambled to Sandburg’s side and was cradling the young man in his arms. As Jack stepped over to him, he looked up in confusion. “What the hell…?” he spluttered.

“Sorry, Detective,” Jack said. And he shot Ellison with his zat gun, encompassing Sandburg in the blast as well, for good measure.

“Jack!” Daniel exclaimed in horror. “What did you do that for?”

“I’m hoping when they wake up they’ll either not remember anything, or put anything weird they do remember down to concussion,” Jack shrugged. “Now we just have to try and explain this mess to Captain Banks.”

XXXXX

Jim came back to awareness slowly, with a pounding headache and a sense of several things being very wrong with the world. He opened his eyes to discover he was lying in a hospital bed, and saw that Blair was in a similar bed just across from him.

He struggled to a sitting position, his memories of how he had ended up there momentarily pushed to the side in his concern for Blair.

“Chief?” he called out softly. “Chief, can you hear me?”

Blair stirred and opened bleary eyes to look at him in confusion. “Jim,” he said, his voice a bit hoarse. “What happened, man?”

Jim was saved the difficulty of answering that question by the sound of the door opening. He looked up to see Colonel O’Neill and Dr Jackson entering the room.

“Ah, good; you’re both awake,” O’Neill said, looking decidedly cagey. “We’re heading off back to Colorado shortly, but just wanted to check you were both okay before we left. How are you feeling?”

Jim crossed his arms over his chest, staring steadily up at O’Neill and wishing fervently that he wasn’t having this conversation in a hospital gown.

“I am confused, angry and possibly going crazy,” he said. “How did Turner make his eyes glow, what were those weird guns you were using, and what the hell is a Goa’uld?”

O’Neill looked positively stunned, then narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Where did you hear that term?” he asked, sternly.

“I overheard you on the phone to your General,” Jim said, without thinking about it.

“Um, well, that complicates things just a bit,” O’Neill muttered, glancing across at Jackson with a ‘what the hell do we do now’ expression on his face.

“Actually, it confirms my theory,” Jackson said. “You know, the one I was going to tell you about ‘later’?” He turned to Jim. “You’re really a Sentinel, aren’t you?”

Now it was Jim’s turn to be stunned, and he looked over at Blair, who was just staring at them all, open-mouthed and completely flummoxed.

“Can someone please explain what’s going on here?” Blair asked in a small voice, his eyes pleading with Jim for some kind of sanity. Jim realised he must not remember anything that had happened in the evidence viewing room.

O’Neill was looking at Jackson. “I’d quite like an explanation of that last part, if you don’t mind, Daniel,” he said.

“The professionalism and scientific structure of Mr Sandburg’s dissertation bothered me from the moment I read it,” Jackson said.

Blair actually managed to look even more shocked. “You read my dissertation?”

“Yes, and it’s excellent,” Jackson said. “And the only way I could get it to make any kind of sense was if everything described in it was absolutely true. Don’t worry,” he said to Jim, raising a hand in a placatory gesture. “We have no intention of revealing your abilities to the world at large, or of carting you off to do experiments on you, or anything. In fact, we’d actually like to offer you a job.” He glanced at Blair. “Both of you. A very important job that would utilise your skills to the utmost and be instrumental in protecting the entire planet from the kind of threat you saw earlier today.”

“Uh, Daniel…” O’Neill’s tone held an urgent warning.

“But it’s perfect, Jack, don’t you see?” Jackson enthused. “They’d be great assets, and it solves the problem of Ellison remembering what he saw. It all works out.” He beamed, then addressed Jim again. “We have a body to take back to Colorado right now, and I suppose we’ll need to talk to the General about an official job offer, but we’ll definitely be in touch. I’m guessing you’ve had a lot of experience at keeping secrets and I’m sure we can trust you not to mention anything that happened to anyone in the meantime.”

“Who would believe me?” Jim said, feeling somewhat overwhelmed.

“Okay, then,” Jackson said, hustling a bewildered O’Neill to the door. “Like I said, we’ll be in touch.”

And then they were gone.

XXXXX

Jim and Blair were discharged from the hospital that same day, and made their way back to the loft in a daze. Jim refused to answer any of Blair’s questions until they were both ensconced on the couch with a beer in hand. Then, he went through everything he remembered, figuring that if the job offer extended to Blair, then Blair wasn’t counted amongst the ‘anyone’ he wasn’t allowed to talk to.

Blair listened in rapt silence until Jim’s narrative was complete. Then he ran his fingers through his hair and exhaled noisily.

“I’d say you were insane, but what Jackson said seems to suggest you’re not,” he said. “But how come I don’t remember any of this? The last thing I remember is you tracking the weird smell to the evidence lock-up.”

“I think it must be something to do with the device Turner used on you,” Jim said. “It blasted you right across the room, so it’s no wonder your memory’s a little fuzzy. And everything else happened after you were already unconscious.”

“Okay, fair enough,” Blair said, setting aside that whole aspect of the situation for a moment. “But what about the Air Force knowing you’re a Sentinel?”

“Yeah, that’s a bit of a kicker, isn’t it?” Jim agreed. “I really don’t know what to feel about that. I guess we need to find out what they have to say about this supposed job they want to offer us, and what the consequences would be if we accept it, or if we turn it down.”

Blair shifted on the couch so that he was facing Jim and placed a hand on his knee.

“Would you even consider it?” he asked, his expression unreadable.

Jim thought for a moment. “I don’t know,” he said. “They know about the Sentinel thing, and it might be good not to have to hide if from everyone. Besides, I certainly want to know about whatever it was that happened here in Cascade over the last few days and I’m sure they’ll only explain if we take the job. And then there’s you.” He placed his hand over Blair’s and squeezed. “We said we’d talk about what you’re going to do with your life once the case was over, and the case is over. It sounded like they’d have stuff for you to do as well, and if they acknowledge your dissertation as the truth, you might even be able to get your doctorate. If we could work together without my abilities having to be a secret, and without everyone thinking you’re a fraud, how could we say no?”

There was a brief pause, and then the most amazing smile slowly spread across Blair’s face.

“That was what I was hoping you’d say,” he said brightly, and leaned in for a kiss.

XXXXX

Back in Colorado, Jack and Daniel were similarly ensconced on the couch at Jack’s house.

“So…” Jack said. “We found a rogue Goa’uld, we found a cop with super powers, and we found two potential new members for the SGC. I’d say that all counts as quite a lot of finding stuff – in anyone’s book.”

Daniel looked at him sideways. “Are you trying to make some kind of point?” he asked, with mock obtuseness.

Jack poked him in the ribs. “What I’m trying to say is that we achieve a lot, and you don’t have to go looking for stuff on your own because enough of it falls into our laps all the time.”

Daniel raised his eyebrows, a study of perfect innocence. “If you remember, none of that would have happened if I hadn’t gone looking for it on my own,” he said.

Jack gave an exaggerated sigh of exasperation. “You are absolutely impossible, you know that?”

Daniel gave him a wicked grin. “Admit it. You wouldn’t want me any other way.”

“You’ve got me there,” Jack surrendered, and leaned in for a kiss.

THE END


End file.
